Castillo's Fiery Texas Rose(18)

“Pardon.” She spoke, and the low murmur of voices stilled. With all eyes upon her, Mary Rose continued. “I’d like to thank each and every one of you for stopping by.” She slowly circled to take in the gazes of friendship and sympathy. “Daniel Thornton was a fine young man.” Her smile trembled. “A good brother and a good friend.”

Her eyes caught the movement as a tall figure stepped through the front door. She would know those shoulders anywhere. Her palm burned as she recalled the heat of his skin beneath the starched white of his cotton shirt. She pressed her lips tight for a moment and could still taste him there, from the coffee he had this morning to the hickory of the bacon he’d consumed with it. If she breathed deep, no doubt the scent of bay rum would invade her nostrils.

“A good businessman,” she continued, her voice a bit brighter than it should have been as she watched the marshal turn to stare.

“Hear, hear,” someone called out.

Trace’s eyes met hers and their gazes locked. Mary Rose smiled. “Yes, hear, hear.” Her gaze spontaneously moved to the person who spoke. “Today, we buried Daniel Michael Thornton’s body, but not his spirit. As long as Thornton Freight stays in business, my brother’s dream stays alive.”

She glanced back. The marshal’s eyes glittered ominously in her direction. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and met his accusing gaze without flinching. “So, come tomorrow, Thornton’s Freight business will reopen at noon, ready to serve the fine residents of Cobb’s Crossing and beyond.” She lifted her cup. “To Daniel.”

Voices echoed the cry. “To Daniel.”

She circled again, holding the cup high to acknowledge their toast. A smile came readily to her lips. Finishing the circle, a look of triumph on her face, she searched for the marshal. Let him tell her Thornton’s was no place for her. The people of the town told her differently. Her eyes caught a movement in the shadows, and the screen door slammed. The thrill of victory fell from her face. A cold hand gripped her heart as she realized Marshal Trace Castillo had walked out. Why, now, did she feel as if she’d lost the best thing in her life?





Chapter Nine

Trace squinted at the invoices and yawned. As tired as he was, he needed something to keep his mind off the tactical display Mary Rose had staged in her parlor yesterday. He blew out a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his face. Unable to shake the image of her defiance, he gave a growl and pushed his chair from the desk. He stood and stretched before crossing over to the front windows.

The shadows from early morning had yet to dissipate, lingering just a bit longer before the heat of the day overruled their existence. Across the way, he could see her house, the door still closed. Trace wondered if she’d slept any better than he had. The thought of her in a bed conjured up the image of that glorious hair, a gossamer gown, and little else. His body stiffened as his mind played with erotic images.

Still lost in his thoughts when the door opened, he scrambled from the window to pick up a mug as Rand Weston walked in. Rand’s footsteps paused at the door, and Trace mentally drew the familiar image of him hanging his hat upon the peg. His friend’s gaze burned a hole in the center of his back.

“Pour me a cup of that substitute you call coffee,” Rand said.

Trace filled a second cup with warm coffee from the pot he’d made earlier that morning. Turning, he watched Rand amble across the floor to his desk and, with a grunt, settle behind it. The sheriff picked up the information lying there and stared at it.

Trace placed a cup beside the sheriff’s right hand and took his seat. “Did the freight wagon get an escort?”

“Yep, sent the bouncer from the saloon along. Thanks,” he replied without looking up as he slid his fingers into the handle, then pulled the cup to his lips for a drink. “Anything I should know?”

Trace took the time to sit in the chair across from him, then shrugged. “Not much,” he replied. “The usual supplies, flour and tobacco for the fort store. Some female doodads, things you’d normally see.”

“Then what is it we’re not seeing?” the sheriff asked, setting his cup beside the papers and lifting them up one by one for perusal.

“It’s the very last page. About a third of the way down,” he said. The papers rattled as Rand sifted through them. “I nearly missed it.”

He watched the sheriff put his fingers on the last invoice page and run his hand down the column of descriptions. He paused abruptly and looked up.

“Guns!” His widened eyes stared at Trace.

“Not a good thing, amigo. With what is going on in Mexico at this moment, it could only fan the fires along the border.”

“But it doesn’t seem that Daniel is hiding the fact,” Rand observed with a bit of surprise.

“No, but then again, why? Why didn’t he ask for an army escort? Why take his sister? Did he plan on selling them?”

Rand shook his head, his face a mask of bewilderment. “How many rifles?” He glanced back at the papers.

“Twenty-five in each case.” Trace replied. “Two cases in all, so at least fifty rifles.”

“That’s a lot of uncertainty.”

“Underneath you will find a note from the Adjutant General of the State of Texas, asking the major to put the cargo into the field.”

“Into the field,” the sheriff repeated, flipping the invoices over and reading the notes. “This shipment is not a good thing to fall into the wrong hands.”

“No, it isn’t. Every citizen along the border of the Rio Grande and Mexico should worry about their safety.”

Rand sat up and thumped the papers with his index finger. “I think I’ll telegraph the fort. They have a new commander. A spit-and-polish from back east. I want to let him know what’s going on. Come on, son. We’ll send the telegraph, and then breakfast is on me.”

Trace placed his cup on the desk and followed Rand out the door and across the street to the hotel. Stepping inside, he blinked after the brightness and adjusted to the shadows.

“Morning, Sheriff,” a silken female voice called from the front desk.

Looking up, Trace watched Rand move toward a brunette in a sedate blue dress.

“Elaine, I need to send a message to the fort.”

“’Course.” She nodded and flipped the latch, lifting the edge of the counter up so she could pass through. “Follow me.” They fell into step, moving toward a small room just off the main entryway. Trace noted the word “Stenographer” carved on the plaque on the door.

“Here you go,” she said, and shoved a pad toward Rand. As he scribbled his note, she moved to the seat behind the desk where the telegraph sat secured.

“Elaine, I’d like you to meet Marshal Castillo.” Rand gestured with a jerk of the pencil over his shoulder.

“Marshal.” She smiled.

Rand shoved the pad back.

“You want to wait for confirmation?” she asked, her fingers tapping out the message.

“I’ll wait.”

She completed her task and tore the message from the pad, handing it back to the sheriff. “How’s Mary Rose?”

“Holding up,” Rand replied.

Trace’s mouth soured and the woman chuckled. He gave her a sharp glance, and she raised a hand in defense.

“Pardon, Marshal, but you just look like you got a mouthful of something you didn’t like.”

“Don’t mind him, Elaine. Seems Mary Rose’s announcement yesterday about the freight company put a burr under his blanket.” The sheriff grinned and stuck the paper into the pocket of his vest.

She grew sober. “I heard.” Trace watched her turn toward him, her eyes laden with sympathy. “I was a bit surprised,” she said. “But look at me. I’m no one to talk. You’d best either find something to occupy your mind or take a job with the freight company.”

Before he could reply and defend himself, the key began to strike. She grabbed the pencil and sat down to copy the message coming through the line. With a sigh, she pulled the reply from the pad of paper and handed it to Rand.

His mouth formed a thin line. “They’re sending someone down. This might complicate things.” He looked at the woman across from him. “I need to keep this quiet.”

She nodded. “My lips are sealed.”

“You’re a good woman,” Rand remarked.

She gave him a knowing glance. “Took you long enough to find out. Shall I put an order in for your breakfast?”

“Sure,” Rand nodded. “Make it two. The marshal will be joining me, but give us a few minutes. I want to go over to the bank.”

“Not a problem.” She nodded and walked back to the other room.

Trace waited as Rand took a deep breath, then asked, “Something goin’ on between you two that a man should know about?”